Roses and Revelations
by windsweptsilence
Summary: Natasha Karolina, Prima Ballerina of the Moscow Ballet, muses on her simply-too-short courtship of Bruce Wayne, and stumbles on something she can't even begin to understand. One-shot.


Disclaimer: I don't own Batman, The Dark Knight, et cetera.

A/N: This is my first TDK fic, but I've wanted to do one for weeks, so I decided to let my creative juices flow. See additional notes at the bottom.

The moment Natasha Karolina stepped into her apartment, she knew something was wrong.

The feeling stemmed from the scent of roses- a lot of roses, all of them cloying up the room with their scent. She sighed, and fell lazily onto the sofa. Before, it might have been a welcome smell, but since she'd been consorting with Bruce Wayne, it could only mean one thing; bad news.

Absentmindedly, she counted the bouquets- at least ten. That would equal out to about the apologies of a broken date. She was used to that by now, but what could he have done this time? For god's sake, it was his own fundraiser they were supposed to be attending! The one for that Harvey Dent, that he'd promised to on their last date, at Casa Loma. Well, the last date he'd kept- unless you count the cruise.

The nerve! Promising a romantic getaway, and then shipping along the entire Russian ballet? She'd heard rumors about his playboy nature, and as the attractive prima ballerina of the Moscow Ballet, a title she'd been proud to adopt, Natasha usually found herself in similar situations. She'd been arm candy to tens- hundreds!- of men like him, but never had there been anything this appalling.

Bruce was an odd man, though, even for his sort. Billionaire playboys certainly did have their eccentricities, but his went above and beyond. They had an agreement to mainly avoid consorting out of the public eye, which gave Natasha a sense of just how much she meant to him. Not much. However, he had a singular kind of compassion that showed through even that, and it seemed he had a protective nature. Although unsettling at times, his presence had an effect on her that gave her the calm of knowing you're completely safe. And then there was the odd sensation of buried intelligence- so many of her previous consorts had owned the eyes of a dog; happy, but utterly brainless. Bruce's were just about the opposite; he rarely looked truly happy, if at all.

And then there was the quite singular promise he'd made to her at the beginning of the relationship; the one that had stupefied her. In any of her relationships with men of his kind, sex was a key ingredient. The sex kept him happy, and kept her around which, in turn, made her happy. But as they'd been discussed their conditions at the start of the relationship, Bruce Wayne showed another quality that set him apart from the norm.

"If there's nothing else you'd like to discuss, I have a stipulation of my own," he'd murmured, enclosing her dainty hands in his strong, confident ones. They sat in the back of the Italian restaurant he'd ushered her off to, to get away from the noisy party they'd attended before. It had been the opening party of the show the Moscow Ballet would be putting on, filled with Gotham's finest, as well as richest and most obnoxious. The two often went hand in hand.

"Anything," she'd whispered, already entranced by his charm. Because, when he felt the need to employ it, his allure was completely compelling; gripping; undeniable.

"I will give you my word," he began slowly, keeping her locked in his eyes, "That I will not lay a hand on you. Not even a finger, on your beautiful skin."

She cracked a smile at his serious tone. "Bruce, I wouldn't ever have dared to dream you'd do anything harmful--" He put his finger up to her lips.

"No, you don't understand." His features were a mess of conflicted emotions; powerful conflicted emotions. "Not in that way. What I meant was…I will not be sleeping with you," he whispered, and she lowered her eyes a little in- well, what was it? Surprise? Confusion? Maybe even disappointment?

"Oh," she murmured. "I understand. If you--"

"Ah, ah, ah," he reprimanded teasingly, a provocative smile on his face. "Enough on that topic, hmm? Now, where were we before- your career? How about telling me how you became a ballerina?"

Although that hadn't been what they were talking about, Natasha had smiled a bit hesitantly, and spilled out her life story to him. It hadn't occurred to her until later that she knew hardly anything about him- and what little she knew had been told to her by other sources. He'd always been cautious in approaching that topic. Overly cautious, to the point of secrecy. But how interesting could his life be? Riding around Gotham in a Lamborghini, donating millions of dollars to charitable funds, and dating supermodels must have about summed it up, right? And frankly, if it did, she didn't want to hear it.

_--_

_Bruce Wayne sighed as he hung his coat up in the penthouse. Another day, another fundraiser, another woman he'd flirt with in the public eye. It was getting inconvenient to keep changing ladies; took too much time and effort to be able to bring someone new to every function. Besides, even the Prince of Gotham had to make an effort to slow down, someday- he could start by going on two dates with the same woman. Talk would arise if he didn't start his descent into normalcy soon._

_If his heart didn't belong to Rachel, he might have found Natasha Karolina to be very attractive. She was beautiful, smart, had her charms, had her fame. There were so many women out there just like her, but maybe not as successful, and he could never quite keep that in the back of his mind. Naturally, Bruce Wayne could never flirt with any other member of the ballet; if it was less than the prima ballerina, now _that _would have people wondering._

_It would occasionally strike him as odd as he referred to his two identities in the third person. There was Bruce Wayne, the boy who had been born into the right family. The boy who had everything, and constantly took advantage of it. And then there was Batman, the "masked vigilante" who only yearned for justice, but achieved it through…well, more unconventional ways._

_The problem he found was this; if he wasn't quite Batman and he was definitely not Bruce Wayne, then who was he? What odd overlap of the two characters included whoever he was? There was obviously more Batman in him, but even then, he needed to be more human. Not even an unstoppable force could afford to be so detached from regular, human life._

_But in his heart, he'd hold a reminder. Whenever Rachel said his name, it was like he came alive, whoever it was he was. Suddenly, his place in the universe was secure, and the wretched floating could cease. Rachel wasn't his, just yet, but he could wait. The day the Gotham wouldn't need Batman any longer was approaching steadily, and along with it, Bruce's true happiness._

_He scowled slightly as he stepped into his suit. However, at the moment, he still donned the cape and cowl, but as he did, at least he could feel the hope of the future. _

_--_

It was a unique situation, because, although she'd had no intention of doing so, Natasha had lost her head and become completely infatuated with him. Usually she tried to avoid that, because she knew how easily she could be cast aside; like last night's suit and tie. Luckily, she knew Bruce would never thoughtlessly cast her aside- and if he ever did, it would be with thousands of roses. However, he was always so distracted, and she knew that whenever the vacant look filled his eyes, it wasn't her he was thinking about. God help whoever- or whatever- it was. Even the time he'd broken his promise…

It had been a dreary evening when, after a party filled with the usual sort of people and Bruce strutting around with her proudly clutching his arm, he'd invited her up to his apartment. Naturally, it was only with her agreement first- he would never have taken the liberty to force her there.

"Would you like to join this evening, for some company?" he'd asked slowly, coming out of deep thought. There was a dark undertone to his pleasant voice, but she chalked it up to the party. For whatever reason, they seemed to only irritate his black moods.

"Of course," she'd fervently agreed, but doubted he'd want anything more than company. That continued to haunt her, irritate her, and sometimes even infuriate her; but the only consistent feeling was rejection. And that was something Natasha Karolina wasn't used to.

Of course, his penthouse apartment was luxurious and state of the art, but it lacked the feeling of home. She admitted this to him, a bit cautiously due to his temperamental disposition. But to her surprise- as always- he cracked a wry smile, and asked her if she'd like to sit down.

"Here, let me fix you a drink," he continued. "It's a rather long story." He proceeded to tell her the tragedy of losing his home, skirting around the details. And with that story came some more stories of his past, the most prominent one being how he had lost his parents.

"…and I really can't stand to settle here- you know, I haven't unpacked some of my clothes," he admitted, smiling a bit sheepishly at her. "I hope that answers your question."

"That and more," Natasha answered, but her forehead creased. "Why did you wait until now to tell me all of this?"

"I'm not sure," he answered, matching her confused expression. "But I have a question for you," he announced, eyes lowered. At her nod, he took in a deep breath. What was making Bruce Wayne so anxious? "Would you…like to, uh, stay the night?"

In response, all it took was a brilliant smile, and they were off to the bedroom.

The atmosphere was strange in that it was rushed. The air was thick with the feeling that it hadn't been thought through, and it wasn't quite as perfect as she had imagined, any of the hundreds of times. However, even though it was perfect in its own right, it couldn't last. In fact, the entire thing stopped quite abruptly when she saw the scars marring his perfect body.

Bruce stopped and looked her in the eye at her sharp intake of breath. "Are you--" he began with a rasp in a somehow-familiar-yet-strangely-exotic voice, and then shook his head once. "Are you alright?" She began to trace the cuts and bruises, staining his skin.

"Bruce…what _happened_ to you?" she cried, concern melting through any inhibitions before.

"Uh, um…" He cleared his throat, and winced. "Polo." Before Natasha could open her mouth to call him out on the lie, he was sitting up and buttoning his shirt. "Listen, I am so sorry for doing this to you," he apologized, true sorrow leaking into his tone. It was undoubtedly a sincere apology.

She was already shaking her head. "Don't be."

"But I am," he stated tersely, and then lowered his voice to a whisper. "I promise it won't happen again- and I won't go back on my word, this time."

"So this is what it's about?" she asked, beginning to get angry. "Going back on your word? You've already broken it, Bruce, and to tell the truth…I'd rather you break it again." She kissed him down his neck. "Come back to me, Bruce. Come back to bed."

He cringed, and handed her the dress she'd cast aside. "Natasha…I can't. I just…can't." He disappeared into another room, and came back in with another dress she'd never seen before, a set of car keys, a towel, and a wad of cash. "You're welcome to spend the night here; I'll be in the room down the hall, if you need me." A stupid statement, of course she needed him. "Use any amenities you'd like- there's a bathroom off of the master bedroom with a shower. Now, you're also welcome to leave any time you like. Take the car, take a taxi, whatever you prefer." He turned around, and began to walk out of the room. "Goodnight, Natasha. I probably won't be here when you wake up; early morning meeting. I'll see you soon. I love you." The last three words were the only ones that didn't ring with sincerity.

After sulking for a while, she decided it would be better to leave. He was absolutely infuriating, mostly because it was impossible to be angry with him. He'd supplied her with everything she'd need; there was no way left to pin the blame on him. After she grabbed a few bills from the money he'd left her- just enough, no excess- she went in to see what her mysterious boyfriend looked like whenever he slept, free of the worry lines criss-crossing his skin. However, he wasn't in the room as promised; in fact, the bed showed no sign of even being touched. Although it struck her as odd that he'd be up at the late hour, she was more pissed off that he'd lied than curious, and left in a rush.

--

_Alfred strolled into Bruce's bedroom, opening the curtains so the sunlight could be spewed into the dark room. Shaking his head, he pondered the new hours of his master- if it kept up like this, Bruce Wayne soon really would be nocturnal. And that would undoubtedly raise questions._

_As per usual, he was tucked under the covers. However, upon Alfred's entrance, he sat up, clearly awake. His face was troubled, with more than a touch of guilt. "I did something bad, Alfred," he admitted miserably. "I made a mistake. Bad one."_

"_Well, Master Wayne," he began cheerily as possible, "Why do we fall? So--"_

"_Yeah, I know, I know," he interrupted impatiently. "So we can learn to pick ourselves up. But… I think there are some things you can't learn from. Just regret."_

_Alfred sat down, thoroughly confused. "Not an accident patrolling, I hope?" he prodded, but Bruce shook his head vehemently. "If you'd care to explain…" he prompted again, but Bruce only shook his head with more vigor._

_He breathed slowly and deeply for a few moments, and then closed his eyes. "I had a lot on my mind, and I, er, wanted-- just someone to talk to," he began defensively. Alfred nodded, still unclear of where this was going. "I invited Natasha- the ballerina, you know?- to, uh, stay and chat for a while." He winced. Ah. Now Alfred could see where this was going. _

_He was silent for a few moments, and Alfred felt the need to coax more out of him. "Did the chat, ah, turn into something else, Master Wayne?" When Bruce gulped, he knew he'd hit the mark. _

"_I don't know what bothers me most," he began, springing out of the sheets and pacing the room anxiously. "How I told her my life's story- with modifications, of course," he added, before his old butler could get too worried. "How eagerly it turned into- how did you put it? Something else? Or maybe it was how disconnected I felt, like I was losing my grip on reality. On other people." It was harder than anything else to admit it. "Alfred, I--I can't keep doing this," he said, voice cracking on the last words._

_It was so irregular to see his master in so utterly vulnerable, the old butler wasn't sure what to do. Pat his hand and say, there, there? It wouldn't- couldn't- do any good. What Bruce Wayne was fighting was inside him this time; there was no one to pin it on, except for himself. He was beyond the help of anyone else._

_--_

There were over five hundred yellow roses in her room the next day.

The thought of the stinking roses brought Natasha back to the present, and she decided to read the card that accompanied them, and flip on the TV. The card was barely a card at all- it just explained that something had come up, and she didn't need to attend the fundraiser. In other words, he was telling her not to show up. It was the TV that really caught her interest, and spiked her anger. Naturally, he was on the news again. That happened fairly often. He was climbing out of a helicopter on the roof, with his arms around the waists of two attractive young women. To her understanding, that also must have been something that happened often, but it was a blow nonetheless.

Immediately, she picked up her cell phone, dialed his number…and straight to voicemail, as usual. She began to scream in Russian, just hoping he understood the language so he could feel the full intensity of her anger, and not just hear it in her voice. She stopped mid-sentence, and hit end before he could hear her sob.

She figured she should clear the table in anticipation of the roses that would come tomorrow.

Well, maybe she had overestimated Bruce Wayne. Maybe he was just as much of an asshole as the rest of the world. But there was too much evidence against that…it was almost as if he was playing an asshole for the rest of the world. But _why_? _Why_ would anyone do that?

The roses hit the floor. Natasha blinked a few times, frozen to the spot. Well, that was what she thought, before her legs gave out and she collapsed on the floor. Still immobile, she sat in the same spot for several minutes, hardly aware of anything around her.

The evidence was almost too much. The scars. The reason he'd lied about the scars. The reluctance to talk about himself. The feeling that he was a different person in private, than in public. The perpetual pondering. The almost perfectly nonchalant life, like he was sticking to some previously-formed generalization concerning who he had to be.

And even beyond that, there were other less obvious things. Now that she thought about it, all of the broken dates had been on nights when Batman had appeared. And she was willing to bet…

She fired up her computer, sifting through what he'd told her about his past. She knew he'd traveled for a long time, and only returned to Gotham relatively recently. Millions of articles came up when she typed his name in the search box, but that was to be expected. Hell, there were already some biographies written, and he wasn't even dead yet.

It only took a look into one of the unauthorized biographies to discover Bruce Wayne returned to Gotham in September of 2007. The first sighting of Batman had been in November of '07. Clutching the table for support, Natasha shook her head slowly. Shouldn't it have been obvious? How could anyone- especially her- have missed the signs?

Suddenly, she knew where she'd heard the voice before. The voice that he'd spoken in while they'd made love. And why he hadn't been in his bed afterward…maybe it was even the reason he'd broken off so suddenly. No, she knew that wasn't the reason. She only wished. She knew the reason was because when he'd woken back up to reality, he knew it was a mistake. And that still stung worse than attending his party with two little sycophantic hussies.

She gasped quietly when memories of the discussion of the "Caped Crusader" at Casa Loma flooded back to her. To think, while she'd been argued against the cause of the Batman so blatantly, he'd been sitting right next to her, holding her hand. And Harvey Dent, who he'd taken such an obvious dislike to, had defended him fully. It was coincidence acting at its finest.

Well, there were a couple things that had to be done.

Natasha picked up her phone again, dialed Bruce's number again, and reached his voicemail again. Only this time, her message was a bit different. "Bruce, please disregard the last message I left you. I'm sorry. But I'd like to end whatever it is we have going here; and you may know, I'm not acting in anger. And I really did love you. But I think it would be better for both of us to never see each other again." She snapped the phone shut, only to open it again.

"Hello, International Airlines? Yes, I'd like a ticket on the first flight available coming out of Gotham City to Moscow…"

A/N: I thought it would be fun to develop a character who had a very small role, and while you could argue I over-developed Bruce's one-time date, I could argue that you don't know that. The italicized portions are the situation from Bruce's point of view, more or less. I added them as an afterthought, because it would've been hard to understand why Bruce suddenly decided to "Turn the chat into something else," confide in his girlfriend, or stick with her for more than one date in the first place. I hope that clears anything up, but PM's and reviews are, as always, more than welcome. I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it.


End file.
